


i'm a whole lotta' crazy (i think you like it, too)

by scarlett_starlett



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Deadpool Thought Boxes, Earth-3010, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mutual Pining, Peter can provide said hugs and head pats, Self-Esteem Issues, She just needs a long hug and some head pats, Wanda Wilson is just as sad and hopeless as Wade Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 20:58:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13349400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlett_starlett/pseuds/scarlett_starlett
Summary: After a less than pleasant encounter with some Weapon X scumbags while on a mission, Wanda Wilson just wants to come back to her shitty apartment, binge watch terrible reality TV shows, and order an obscene amount of Tito’s pizza and diet Mountain Dew (she has a figure to maintain, after all).Instead, her hero slash super-bro slash mentor slash boyfriend-but-he-doesn't-know-it-yet Spider-Man decides to be the righteous dickbag she always suspected he was underneath that golden boy exterior and make her eat lead after all—and not in the fun way, either.(or: the one where Lady Deadpool just wants a break and Spider-Man can’t say ‘I missed you’ like a normal person.)





	i'm a whole lotta' crazy (i think you like it, too)

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, Lady Deadpool just wants to feel wanted and she's the best parts of any Deadpool wrapped into one. I would die for her. Marvel needs to resurrect Wanda from comic hell and give me the content I pay for, gotdamn. But, until then, have some Lady Deadpool and Spider-Man drama because in every Earth, I still think these two would be great together. 
> 
> I have a second part to this that addresses some plot holes. But that part grew into a third part, which isn't finished, so if I ever get around to finishing it, I'll post it all at once. However, this can be read as a stand-alone and that's why I'm posting it lol. 
> 
> I don't _actually_ know if there is a fandom for this pairing, but I'm totally willing to scream into the void about it forever so who's the _real_ winner here??

“Maaaan, do I miss New York City!!” Wanda booms, setting her hands on her hips as she exits the subway, ignoring disgruntled citizens who shove past her. She just grabs her sparkly pink duffel bag from beside her boots and blends into the New York City crowd—or as much as can, wearing her Deadpool suit and all. “I missed the caffeine-drugged, dead-eyed, people! The overpriced boutiques and the smog-filled air that makes me wish the cancer had killed me off when it had the chance! But I _especially_ miss the New York style hot dogs! Mmm,” Wanda licks her lips under her mask, grinning. “I’m in the mood for some _wieners._ ”

[Y’know what _I_ like? Spider-Man—specifically, Spider-Man’s _wiener._ His dong. His diddle. His package. His Jack-in-the-Box. His ompa loompa. Am I not being clear enough? Lemme’ try again! GO FIND SPIDER-MAN SO WE CAN SUCK HIS DICK!]

{Can you be _any more_ crass? Ugh. **This** is why he doesn’t like us...}

“That, and because we’re merc's!”

{Ex-merc's now.}

" _Whatever_. I'd still shoot Taskmaster in the face for a Kit-Kat Bar."

[Um _, nooo,_ ] Yellow scoffs, snobbish. [He doesn’t like us coz he likes _red-heads!_ If we’d just _kill her,_ then we’d have a chance! But instead we have to try and be noble! I’m getting’ cabin fever in here!]

{We _could_ just dye our hair…}

[BLASPHEMY! BLONDE’S DO IT BETTER, BITCH!]

“Now, now, settle down, girls,” Wanda placates, beaming when she finds a hot-dog stand just a block up. The predictability of hot-dog stands in New York will be something she will always be grateful for. She hitches her duffel bag higher up on her shoulder and picks up her pace, starving after a long 2 months of bringing home the bacon. This is the longest she’s been away from her little altar boy Spidey in about two years, so she’s _extra_ excited to see him—even if he isn’t. So when she finds him, she’s going to give him _all the boob squishes_.

{Liar. It matters. You _like-like_ him, Wanda. You like him so much that if that red-head decided she actually gave a _fuck_ about him, you’d let him go. That’s intense.}

[Yeah! Teen Vogue said so! We did the flow chart and everything!]

{She’s about as lost over that guy as she was with _Nathan—!}_

“POPROCKS!” Wanda blurts out, nearly dropping her hot-dog. “I forgot to turn the stove off before I left!”

[Well, there goes our dig. I kinda’ liked that shithole.]

{We’re going to revisit this conversation _later,_ Wanda!}

Wanda wrinkles her nose. “How about, no?”

She can sense White seething in the back of her mind, but Wanda only giggles at the severe Box.

[Oh, stuff it, we get it! We’re gonna’ have _another_ angsty pinning marathon once we get home! Like we don’t have one every other day!]

{If we even _have_ a home to get back to.}

[I said SHUSHHHH!!]

“Shit, shit, shit,” Wanda curses under her breath, running down the sidewalk while her Boxes argue with one another. She kind of hopes her apartment is _still there_ but, when she arrives twenty-five minutes and two hot-dogs later, she finds that the window of her apartment is yellow taped—actually, the entire third floor is closed off. Wanda could have sworn she had taken out all her explosives from the place, but she may have been wrong.

{It’s still standing, isn’t it?}

Scratch that then. If an explosive had gone off, the building would have been leveled. Wanda only carries the good explosives, after all.

The fire must have just been especially _dire_.

“Too bad we missed it.”

[Wait, what about our guns??]

“If they took my babies, I’m gonna’ _lightly maim_ someone!” Wanda growls and then pauses. “That’s not _nearly_ as cool as murder. Why did we give that up again?”

{Spider-Man.}

[The _booty_.]

“ _Oh, right_ ,” she mumbles and uses the fire escape to scale up to her floor, carefully using the jutting bricks to expertly jump over to her window. She tears through the plastic cover with one of her katanas and jumps into her apartment, grimacing when she finds all of her belongings burnt to a crisp and her _guns_ are missing.

“Noooo!” Wanda whines, falling to her knees. “My _babies!_ Somebody stole my _babiesss!!”_

{More like confiscated. We had more weapons in here than the gun shop around the corner.}

[America is great!]

“They’re probably ass-deep in some evidence room by now and we _promised_ Spidey not to break and enter without due cause…”

[Getting our babies back _is_ due cause! The due-est of causes!!] Yellow screeches.

{We earned enough income through this last mission that we could easily replenish our weapons supply within the week,} White promptly reminds, ever the rationalist. White is her unfun Box; she wishes White were more like _Wade's_ Box and just resigned to all the shit she got them in.

[Yeah, why you gotta' be such a killjoy.]

{Someone has to.}

[Why tho.]

{I'm ignoring you—you _know_ how improper grammar gets me.}

[issa Mood™.]

White trembles in the edge of Wanda's vision as Yellow cackles and she's sure that her Yellow Box would have died a brutal death a long time ago if White could get her sharp edges into her.

“Honestly, it was about time for an upgrade,” Wanda says out loud, distracting her Boxes.

[Oooh! Can we get a bazooka this time? Please, please, _please?!]_

{ **No.** Remember what happened _the last time_ we bought a bazooka?}

“Fly, baby, fly _,_ ” Wanda sings while Yellow argues some more with White over the cons of owning a _twin_ set of bazookas because twins did it better. “Well? Now what, guys? Bazookas aside, we’re outta’ a place, and any other personal belongings we had. I had some of my _cutest_ lingerie in there, too…” Wanda sighs, shoulders slumping. She didn’t even have a home to come back to now, either. If it were any other day, she would have just found another place. After all, Wanda isn’t tied down to any one home. She’s always been a drifter, ever since she ran away to join the military. But the past weeks have been rough—Weapon X had made a comeback under the name _Project K_ and it turns out they didn’t learn their lesson regarding human experimentation the second time around _._  Although Wanda’s mission wasn’t _about_ Project K, _of course_ she’d encountered some old _colleagues_ from her botched beauty surgery with those fuckers and had to deal with them.

Not to mention vividly remembering horrific physical and psychological trauma can tucker a gal out.  

So, safe to say, she’s nearing her breaking point.

[Did You Mean: we’ve already had multiple emotional crisis’ and we need a _fucking_ break? Who do I gotta' call around here to make our lives chill for a few issues??]

{Among other things.}

“Yeah, I could go for a burrito bowl right about now.”

She understands that the world just _loves_ to shit on a Wilson—she’d _know_ , since every alternate self in the multiverse seems to have been _fucked over_ some way or the other by life or love or _Weapon X_ or all of the above—but she’s _really tired_ and just wants to curl up somewhere and _breathe._ Wanda grips the side of her head when she feels the comings of a migraine, jaw clenched stubbornly.

She can’t cry yet.

She can’t.

She’s not going to.

Wanda hitches herself up onto the window sill with that thought, ignoring the unsympathetic voices in her head, and leaps down from the third floor. Her bones crack on impact but she barely stumbles, breathing through the pain as she starts to walk in a random direction.

“Well, at least we still have our fabulous hair and huge tits!”

{I…think we just stepped in dog shit.}

[Again?! Get it off, get it off! These boots are _Gucci_ , bitch!]

{That sounds _exactly_ like our luck this month.}

“Ugh,” Wanda lifts her boot glumly, tears stinging her eyes. Everything is terrible and she wants to die. Not literally. At least _not yet._ Who knows, maybe in an hour she’d try her hand at deep throating her Eagle again. “Yeah, you’re tellin’ me. I don’t think it can get worse than this.”

[Just wait til ya’ round the corner!]

“What?” Wanda blinks as she does just that, gasping when she finds a mugger slamming some poor kid against the wall down an alley, switch blade out and dangerously close to the kid’s throat. If there’s one thing Wanda can’t stand, it’s when bad bitches hurt kids. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Wanda growls, storming forward and slapping away the hand that tries to go after her when the mugger realizes who it is, eyes bulging. “Not so fast, _honey,_ don’t’cha know? We gotta go through some _foreplay_ before we get to the good part.”

“D-Deadpool?!”

“There should be a _lady_ somewhere in there.”

The kid doesn’t even stay for a _thank you_ —he darts off the instant the mugger gets picked up off the floor by Wanda, stumbling down the sidewalk in his haste but not stopping for anything.

“Oh—hey, wait! Your wallet!” Wanda yells after him. “You—ow! What the shit?” She scowls down at the mugger that just stabbed her in the fucking forearm like that’s _somehow_ going to stop her. Amateur. “Stabbin’ a lady when her head is turned? If today were any other day, I’d commend ya’ on that. But it isn’t any other day. Today is a _very bad day_ for you, honeysuckle. You’re just _pissin’ me off,”_ Wanda sneers, shoving a gun under the perps chin and relishing the pussy _squeak_ he lets out at the gesture. “How’s about I show ya' what I got _packin’_ , handsome? Maybe you’ll even like it. It’s an acquired taste, yeah, but it doesn’t disappoint. Too much.”

Suddenly, there’s a _thwip,_ and a familiar voice calls out:

“Forgot to send me an invite to the party? Rude. I thought we were more than that, Wands.”

“S-Spider-Man,” the mugger wheezes, equal-parts relieved and horrified.

“Ya’ always leavin' me on read, sugarplum! I can’t do all the heavy liftin’. That’s not how relationships work,” Wanda throws back, tightening her grip. “Now, I've never been bullied, but I’ve got some experience in _domestic abuse_. When it’s given to ya’, ya’ learn how it give it _back,_ ” she growls out at the mugger, who whimpers and shuts his eyes.

Spider-Man lands on a wall opposite them, clinging on with his fingers as his masked eyes narrow at the sight. “No need to hurt the guy more than he needs. Let 'em go.”

“Spidey-baby, you always have the best timing, ya' know?” Wanda says cheerfully, tone at odds with her death grip on the perp. “I was _just_ thinking about you earlier, how’d you know? Can ya’ read minds, too? What am I thinkin’ right now? Hint: it starts with D and ends with I-C-K.”

“ _Wanda_ ,” Spider-Man warns. Wanda wilts a little under the tone. “Drop the guy.”

“But he tried muggin’ some poor kid, Spidey! I was just stoppin’ him!”

“Even if he did, he doesn’t deserve a bullet to the head.”

“A bullet—? I’m not gonna’ _shoot ‘em!_ ” Wanda argues, hurt. “I was just gonna’ rough ‘em up a bit! Y’know? Give ‘em somethin’ to think about! The third degree an’ all!”  

[And _then_ we were gonna’ kill him!]

{Negative. _Then_ we were going to dump his sorry ass at the nearest NYPD station. Y’know, how Spidey _taught us_ to? _}_

“Then _why_ do you have a gun pointed under his chin? You haven’t threatened anyone with a gun like that in _months,_ ” Spider-Man demands and interrupts her impromptu conversation with her Boxes, his arms crossed. God, she _hates_ when he does that. It just reminds her that she’s a walking mistake when he does.

{You _are_ a walking mistake.}

[Yeah! Haven’t you seen yourself in the mirror lately?]

“Fear tactic,” Wanda defends, ignoring her snickering Boxes. “It worked in CSI last night!”

Spider-Man heaves a sigh, but she can just make out the way his mask shifts with a crooked grin. It makes her heart thump happily, hope rising inside of her. Maybe today won’t be such a bad day if her Spidey is still smiling at her like that. “Right. Well. Can’t say it isn’t effective, seeing as he isn’t attempting to break free and he's about one threat away from peeing his pants. Let him go and then we can call the police so they can take him in for questioning. Where’s the kid?”

“I dunno’—he ran off that way! But he dropped his wallet, see?” Wanda remembers, bending down to retrieve the fallen article. The perp stumbles when he’s suddenly dropped from her grip. “I was gonna’ give it back to ‘em but, boy, does that kid run fast for someone’s who’s about 120lbs wet!” She laughs but the laugh is choked off when the perp grabs her _beautiful blonde hair_ and _pulls it,_ making her face-plant with the floor painfully. “Ow!” She cries, gripping her head, and her eyes widen when she finds some blonde strands littering the floor. Her hair. Her beautiful hair—the only thing that’s beautiful about her, ruined on the floor. It's instant; she snaps, and a rage like no other consumes her. “ _You piece of shit, I’m gonna’ fuckin’ gut you an’ stream your insides all over Times Square!”_ She snarls, reaching behind for her katanas only to have her arms webbed to her back and Spider-Man swing down over her to deliver a brutal kick to the perp, knocking him out cold against the wall.

"Holy crud! Wanda _,_ are you okay—?"

“Lemme’ go!” Wanda shouts, struggling furiously against the webbing that has her hands stuck behind her. “Let! Me! Go! He was _mine!”_

“Wanda, _calm down!_ ”

“I don’t _wanna’_ calm down—he deserves what’s comin’ to ‘em!”

“You were about to _murder_ the guy! My spidey-sense went off something fierce!” 

“ _He pulled my hair!”_

“Don’t be ridiculous, Wanda! Bad guys have pulled your hair loads of times before and you’ve never wanted to kill them for it! I seem to remember you cracking an inappropriate joke every time it happened…” Spider-Man frowns, concerned when Wanda only trembles with barely-contained rage. “Is something wrong? You seem _really upset._ More upset than usual.”

“Of course I’m upset! He pulled my hair an’ I wanted to kill him for it an’ now you’re here givin’ me shit for it so, yeah! I’m really upset right now! _”_

“You—where the hell have you been, anyway? I haven’t seen you for two months straight and you haven’t answered my calls or texts!” Spider-Man changes subjects, the lenses on his eyes narrowing. He crosses his arms again. “Did you take a job?”

“I…” Wanda hesitates. “NO!”

“Wanda…”

“Um…Well, you see—!”  At his blank expression, Wanda wilts even more. “… _Yes_.”

“You _promised_ me you would stop taking hit jobs,” Spider-Man grits out, and that’s even _worse_ than the yelling. She can handle a yelling Spider-Man—he yells at her _all the time—_ and, heck, she can even take a reprimanding Spider-Man—he lectures her _all the time,_ too, it was starting to be a turn-on—but she absolutely _can’t_ stand the way his voice drops in disappointment. Wanda has never been good at handling disappointment—especially not from people she cares about, especially not from _him._

[Oh, boo-hoo! Nut up and check the _doesn’t meet expectations_ box!]

{It was only a matter of time before he realized we’re a lost cause. Better now than later.}

“We’re not!” Wanda snaps at herself. She manages to wiggle out the blade she keeps on the flat of her wrist, under her glove, and saw through some of the webbing, loosening it enough for her to break free. “Shut up!”

“Wanda—!”

“I didn’t take a hit job!” She addresses to Spider-Man suddenly, hands fisted at her sides.  “I just took a contract job from SHIELD—no killing, I promise—it was just a retrieval mission. In an’ out! I promise that’s all it was! I-I don’ have any other skills, ya’ know, aside from being a _merc_ and talkin’ way too much, so I was runnin’ low on cash and accepted the job! As much as I’m good at _roughin’ it_ , I liked that place and I was late on rent so I had to do _somethin’!_ ” Wanda pleads and shrinks in on herself when Spider-Man exhales, shoulders relaxing but not enough to alert Wanda that she was off the hook.

[Oooh, you’re in trouble~!] Yellow sings ominously in her mind.

White ostensibly keeps silent, and Wanda would give anything for her reasonable Box to talk her down from the panic building in her chest.

But when she needs her Boxes the most, they were never there.

Her Boxes were unusually cruel that way.

“Then what about the casualty that’s listed on the job? From what I saw in the reports, it looked like a hit job to me.”

“Oh, him _,_ ” Wanda realizes, then her gut drops even more when she realizes that Spider-Man had been keeping track of her. He knew about the job all along. In fact, in that moment, Wanda realizes that he’d been _watching her,_ and not a good type of watch. Not the kind that’d make her belly tingle. No, he’d been waiting for her to, what? Make a mistake? So he could bring it up? So he could say that he’d been right all along—that the fact that she’d _begged_ him two years ago to take her under his wing and teach her how to be _good,_ a hero, was all for naught? That she was a lost cause after all— a _disappointment?_

[I told you—we fuck _everything_ up eventually. Of course he’d know about that guy. Of course he would never trust us—I bet he’s been humoring us this whole time. He doesn’t _like_ hanging out with us. He never _seriously_ wanted to teach us how to be good. He’s been _babysitting us_ this whole time—I bet the Avengers drew straws and he came up short!]

Wanda’s entire world feels at the verge of a total collapse at those words, her lungs locking up as tears burn her eyes.

{There were circumstances to that death,} White interjects, passionless. {Pretty unavoidable ones, considering he _did_ commit suicide to kill us. Fair reaction—he didn’t know we couldn’t _die._ I suppose to anyone viewing the general reports, it’d _appear_ like a hit job…it also doesn’t help that the bastard was the one leading the whole shebang.}

[But I’m not wrong!] Yellow gloats. [Spidey was totally just watchin’ us because his _Avenger_ buddies asked him to!]

{Well, of course he was,} the White box says, ignoring Wanda’s heartbreak. {What _else_ could it have possibly been?}

She clenches her fists, tears leaking into her mask.

[Aww, look! She _really_ thought he _cared_ about her!] The Yellow box laughs with cruel glee. [You’re so fucking _stupid!]_

“I, ah,” Wanda wheezes out, but Spider-Man only exhales sharply at the pathetic sound, oblivious to the turmoil in her mind.

[Pay attention, stupid! Spidey's _pissed,_ ] Yellow whistles. [I don’t think he’d take any excuse we throw ‘em! Quick, to Canada!]

“Um…he just…that wasn’t my fault! The objective, I didn’t mean to…it was…an external factor…unnoted collateral…” Wanda rasps out, feeling an episode coming hard and fast. Her lungs lock tightly and her sweat feels cold, mind frighteningly blank in that way it always does when her panic consumes her.

“I understand that, Wanda, but you have to be more _conscious_ of your actions,” Spider-Man tells her. He rubs the back of his head, troubled. “He’s _dead_ because of your—”

Wanda's breath stutters and she doesn’t hear beyond those last five words.

Spider-Man says more—something about having expected her to restrain from hurting others, something about having expected better of her, which, hah, _newsflash_ , that was his first mistake—but Wanda can’t hear him over the sheer panic that’s rushing in her ears, locking up her limbs. The Boxes are rattled now because of her panic, a frenzied mess, and they’re shouting over Spider-Man, telling her that she shouldn’t have expected anything less, telling her to run—run away, run now, _run like she always does._

It’s why she’s always disappointed—she expects too much and so do others. She can’t be a hero. She told herself this when she enlisted in the army. She told herself this when she was dishonorably discharged. She told herself this when she turned to the merc business. She _can’t_ be a hero. She _can’t_ be something people aren’t afraid of; she’s always been ugly.

She isn’t wired that way; she doesn’t have it in her to sacrifice so much for so little.

Everything about Wanda Wilson is the antithesis of what a hero should be.  

She’s horrifying to look at and horrifying to talk to and even that _kid she saved_ ran away from her, couldn’t _wait_ to be away from her.

No one can _wait_ to be away from her, so why’d she think the Avengers' golden boy was going to be any different?

“… and aren't you going to say anything about that weird _pending_ status on your last mission? SHIELD has always been sketchy, but I don't like that they're still reviewing your mission summary. That usually means they'll call you in for a follow-up assignment and that cuts into your hero training with me!” Spider-Man ends his rant, limbs flailing and all, to look at her uncharacteristically silent form. He tilts his head, worried about the silence. A silent Lady Deadpool was never a good Lady Deadpool. “…Wanda?”

Wanda’s lip trembles. “…Fuck you.”

“Wanda, just take this one thing seriously—!”

“ _Fuck. You,”_ Wanda hisses, with as much venom as she can muster. She even loses her cutesy Jersey accent, settling back into her hard-edged Canadian one. It shocks Spider-Man so much, he actually takes a step back. “Fuck you for always thinking the worst of me! Fuck you for never _trying_ to understand where I’m coming from! Fuck you for always assuming that I can’t stop myself from hurting anybody just coz I’m _clinically_ _insane_ and no one in their right mind would _ever_ want to fix me—trust me, I _tried_ , and all it ever got me was strapped onto _another_ medical table with some Harvard drop-out ripping me open like I’m some sort of _animal—_ so _fuck you_ for making me believe that I could ever _TRY TO GET BETTER!”_ She screams, a wretched sob hiccupping out of her.

“W...what? Wanda?” Spider-Man whispers. His entire posture softens but Wanda isn’t going to fall for it again. She’s stupid, but she’s not a masochist, contrary to popular belief. “Hey…no, no, no, you _are_ better! Who told you aren't? Wands, you've been working so hard to get better, but this is... what _happened_ —?”

“ _No!_ No, no, no, not again! No! I’m done with ya’!” Wanda cries, pointing a shaky finger at him. He freezes. “I’m _done_ , ya’ hear me? _It’s over!_ We’re through! I’m moving on, packin’ up my bags, the whole shebang! I always knew I couldn’t do it, but somethin’ about ya’ made me…made me wanna’ _believe_ that I could be _g-good_ ,” she chokes on the word and Spider-Man flinches as if hit. “But bein’ with ya’s only shown me just how _different_ we are and how I can never be _anything_ but a monster! It was stupid to even try!”

“That’s not true! You’re _not_ a monster, Wanda, I _never_ thought you were a monster! You’re just _hurt_ and no one’s given you a chance but—!”

“No, I’m just a _failed experiment!_ ” Wanda cries, and the silence that follows is just as heavy and telling as anything else in her life. “See? Even _you_ think so,” she hiccups, and when Spider-Man finally snaps out of his horrified shock, shaking his head, reaching out to her, Wanda can’t stand it. She can’t stand it. She’s just so _tired_ and Spider-Man is _everything_ to her, but she can’t even live up to his _expectations,_ let alone his _standards._ But that pretty red-head he loves—Mary Jane—she can. She’s everything that Wanda will _never_ be—like morally sane. And a real red-head. Wanda doesn’t even know why she _tried_ all this time; why she thought that _somehow, someway,_ a comic writer out there would decide they could work together and pair them up and they’d have this great one-shot romance that Wanda could cling to when days were rough and everything was going to shit just like it was now.

She can’t believe she let herself _hope_ that life would get better eventually.

[Honestly, that was your first mistake. Since when does life ever _not_ ram us in the ass like a teenager trying anal for the first time?]

{Wanda, if you want to save yourself further embarrassment, I’d suggest you teleport now.}

“Good-bye, Spider-Man,” Wanda’s voice cracks on his name and she presses the Deadpool button on her utility belt, teleporting away from Spider-Man and the city she’d grown fond of over the past two years. Wanda ends up in the cold forests of Canada, puking her guts out because she hasn’t long-distance teleported in a _while_ and that shits rough on your stomach.

{Couldn’t have lifted your mask before you did that, huh?}

[Ewww—now we smell like ass _and_ vomit! Not even surprised tbh.]

{To be honest.}

[Yeah, I'm always honest?? It's kinda' my _thing??_ ]

{No, I mean, you abbreviated when there was no need to abbreviate!}

[Lmao you need to chill tf out smh.}

{Stop that!}

[SM _F_ H!!]

“Shut up,” Wanda gasps, swallowing back bile. She sniffles and looks around for a moment, reorienting herself. She’s in the outskirts of Ontario—she recognizes this reserve. She often came here to shoot targets after Weapon X face-fucked her and left her a horror queen years ago. “Just— _shut up,_ both of you, shut up.”

[Soo, what now? We goin’ back to New York or we hittin’ the road again?]

“I think we deserve a little vacation, girls,” Wanda whispers, lowering her dirty mask and trudging through the snow to the nearest Holiday Inn. She still had the money SHIELD deposited in her account. It would be more than enough to check into a hotel room for a few days, even rent an apartment and furnish it. Maybe she could even splurge on some pretty dresses and lingerie. She could get her nails done. Getting her nails done always made her happy.

{You don’t deserve to be happy.}

[You fucked up again. Man, I’m getting’ tired of this crap. I can’t believe _me_ , a floating box, is tired of your crap!]

{Unfortunately, we’re stuck with you.}

[I guess you have ok taste in pizza even if mushrooms give us _hives_ —!]

"Shut up! Why can't you both ever just _shut up?!"_

[Ummmmm always talking is also my _thing_ sooo—]

{Spider-Man may have left you,} White says, and the panic that hurts her chest reaches a shrilling peak. Her heart thuds in her ears; her fingertips are numb and cold.  {But _we'll_ never leave you.}

Yellow cackles.

Wanda shoves the barrel of her Desert Eagle in her mouth and pulls the trigger, slumping down on the cold, wet, snow with a brand-new hole in her head.

But at least it’s finally _quiet._

 

* * *

 

“Ricardo! You cheatin’ Twizzler!” Wanda yells, throwing a cheese puff at the TV. “She was nothin’ but good to ya’ and you still went off with that skank Silvia!”

She’s been holed up in this Holiday Inn for the past four days and she’s sure the staff were starting to grow concerned by the increasing rowdiness that comes from her room. But that’s why she rented the luxury suite at the top floor—she won’t bother anyone there and she can wallow in peace.

{More like cry like a thirteen-year-old who was just dumped by her first boyfriend. I'm disgusted with both of you.}

[Ricardoooooo!! _Mi amor, tenia fe en ti!_ ]

“We’ve watched this telenovela ah’ dozen times an’ it still gets to us!” Wanda sniffles, plucking out a few tissues from her small mountain of tissue boxes beside her. That, and pizza boxes, because Wanda _loves_ pizza even though Canadian pizza doesn’t match up to the greasy splendor that’s New York pizza. “That’s quality writing right there! They don’t make ‘em like this anymore, girls—it’s all adopted kids and the rich man-poor girl dynamic! Booo- _ring!_ ” She stretches out, clad in a red spaghetti strap and black spandex shorts. She’d painted her nails blue sixteen times already and she’d moisturized her horrible face twice that amount, probably, and she’d combed her beautiful blonde hair even _more_ than that. The only thing Weapon X ever let her keep was her hair—they liked to taunt her with it, liked to pull it and threaten that they’d shave it off and then she’d _really_ be hideous. But she’d escaped before that and it’s been her one crowning achievement ever since.

[Aside from being a screw up, you mean.]

“No one can beat us there,” Wanda stuffs a handful of Cheetos into her mouth. She reaches for her Mountain Dew (not diet, she deserves the _real_ thing this long weekend) and she’s just taken a huge pull of that prepubescent spermicide shit when someone knocks on her door. Wanda checks the clock and lets out a confused hum.

{Pizza?}

[Pizza!?]

“Pizzaaaaa!” Wanda squeals and hurries off the couch, pulling her shirt down her belly. She’ll hate herself later for letting herself go like this but, honestly, she deserves this break. She just broke up with Spidey, after all. “ _Oh_ …right,” Wanda mumbles miserably before she even reaches the door, shoulders slumping. Right. She totally cancelled their team-up faster than Marvel cancelled any gay shenanigans in their 616 serializations.

The knocking brings her back from her bubble of gloom and she pulls on a brave smile, hesitating only to pat her face and make sure her mask is there. She doesn’t mind showing strangers her scarred, stitched up, patchwork of a body—compared to Wade, she got the typical _female character in a comic book_ treatment, so her scars are less severe than Wade’s shit-show skin and more mysteriously sexy in that streamlined marketing way—but she _does_ mind her face. Showing her face makes everything in her life _real,_ and she’s too mentally fragile for that type of realization right now.

Or anytime.

So she pulls the door open and there stands… Peter Parker, CEO of Parker Industries?

He looks anxious and like he hasn’t had a good nights rest in a good few years, bruises underlining his pretty hazel-green eyes. His arms are behind his back, as if he’s hiding something, but his weak smile distracts her from wondering what he’s carrying. Unable to help herself, Wanda's eyes dart down his sharp and cleanly shaven jawline, down his strong neck to the crisp, patterned flannel that fits him _very nicely_ and dark jeans which Wanda would _love_ to slowly pull off because, _damn,_ was the little nerd packing something delicious under there. But what continues to captivate her the most are his nervous, bright hazel eyes and the tentative, guilty smile on his face. She has no idea what he’s feeling so guilty about—maybe the fact that he’s part of the 1% and everyone else is starving—but if he kept looking at her like that, she’d gladly let him stay guilty.

"Uh," his voice cracks. Peter flushes. Wanda's lip twitches. "H...hi, Wanda."

“Hello?" She cocks her head, then leans on the door with one arm, making sure to push her bust out as she drawls, "Are you the rent boy I ordered? Coulda' sworn I put in an order for business formal, but I'll take vanilla IT sexy, too!"

[I'd tap that any day. Everyday.]

{Immediately. From behind.}

[Yeah!.... _wait._ ]

That immediately breaks whatever cute, introverted, nerd cliché Peter had been working. His eyes narrow and he sputters out: "You ordered a _what—_ wait, first off, no, _no I'm not a rent boy!_ I'm here to—I mean...Look, this may be a forward request, but I would prefer if we spoke in private about it? It's really important."

"Ooh, are we starting already? My modem's been acting up lately—maybe you can turn it off and turn _me_ on!"

"I'm serious, I'm _not_ a rent boy!" Peter groans, dropping his face in his hands. "I'd be horrible at that. I can barely hold a conversation without putting my foot in my mouth. I'd be fired immediately."

"I dunno',  I think you're doin' pretty well right now. I'm halfway wet already." 

"I..." He gapes, eyes darting down and then up, face heating up a little more. 

"Oh, _relax!_ I'm just fuckin' with ya'!" Wanda chortles. 

"Not cool, but vaguely expected," Peter mumbles weakly, rubbing a knuckle over his warm cheeks.

[Ohhh my God he is so fucking _cute!_ I want sixteen of them!]

"D'awwhh, you're so cute! You'd make the cutest rent boy if you ever decided to go down that line of work! Do it—I'd rent you all the time, every night, baby boy!" Wanda coos, gently tapping his nose with her forefinger. Peter pinks, but his lips twitch like he's biting back a smile. "Any who, what brings the boy genius Peter Parker so far up north?” Wanda asks. "Wait! I know! GASP! Oh, _no!_ I can’t believe _the_ Peter Parker of Parker Industries delivers pizzas now. Actually, I can, because ethical capitalism doesn’t exist and everyone peaks eventually. Speaking of, where’s my pizza?” She peers out, looking all around to find nothing. “Hey, what the fuck, dude? No wonder your company tanked! You forgot the _pizza!”_

“My company didn’t tank, Wanda, and I’m not a pizza delivery guy. That was only _once_ during college and I got fired because I kept being late,” Peter rolls his eyes, but there’s a very fond smile on his face as he says those words. There's a change in his tone here; it's subtle, but Wanda picks it up.

Familiarity.

He's familiar with her and it clicks then.

The difference, you see, between Wanda and the other Deadpool’s is that Wanda may be ditzy, but she’s not fucking stupid.

Wanda stares at Peter Parker for a whole five seconds, reaches between her tits for a twenty, and shoves it into his shirts front pocket. “Here’s a crisp twenty for the fare, Spidey—never contact me again,” Wanda states and then slams the door in his wide-eyed face and proceeds to have a meltdown. “Oh, my _god_ ,” she gasps, pressed up against the door. “What am I gonna’ _do?!_ Peter Parker killed Spider-Man and took over his body!”

“… _That’s not even remotely close to right!”_ Parker laughs, voice muffled through the door. _“Or logically conclusive! How could you be so wrong yet so right?”_

“OH NO HE KNOWS HOW TO USE IT!” Wanda wails and dives for her bed, frantically shuffling around for her guns. But she didn’t _buy_ any new guns—she only has the guns she brought with her from New York and she’s down to two bullets because she ate the rest. She’d have to make them count. She looks around the chaos that is her room and curses her depression-fueled nesting. “Where the fuck is my suit?!” Wanda growls. “And my guns? My katana's? GUYS, WHAT THE FUCK? I told you to keep track of them while I cured my depression with pizza and Cheetos!”

{You asked us no such thing!}

[You can try the fuckin’ uhhhhhhhhhhhh—]

“I’m pretty sure I did! I said it right before we started our telenovela binge!”

{Allegedly!}

“Don’t ‘allegedly’ me, you law-school drop-out! We were kicked out when we wanted to kill the defendant, remember?”

[—hhhhhhhhhhhh OH! Under the bed!]

{Don’t be stupid—it’s not under the bed, it’s clearly behind the pile of pizza boxes!}

“Guys—now’s not the time to be Kardashian-levels of unhelpful! Just find my super-suit before Parker out there decides to cheese us—OH, NO, HE’S HERE!” Wanda shrieks when she finds him crouched right behind her, grinning, and she blinks when he presses a palm against her masked mouth and raises a finger to his lips. Wanda grabs his wrist and, quick as lightening, he grabs her own and keeps her still. 

"We didn't set up a safe word," Peter says.

"My safe word is always _don't stop,"_ Wanda bites back, and kicks with the intent to disable instead, tries to flip him and pin him to the ground, but he’s lightning-fast and she doesn’t even manage to graze him. But she does manage to make him let go. Wanda rolls back instead and finds her handgun under her pillow, sliding into a practiced crouch and holding it out. “Who sent you and what the hell do you want,” Wanda demands, dangerously.

“Wanda,” Peter says calmly, raising a hand in peace. He's still crouched, much calmer and controlled than how he was outside. Somehow, he's  _different_ , but much more familiar than before. Wanda feels like she knows _this_ man more than the one that stood at the doorway just moments ago and she _does not_ like feeling like she's missed a step. “It’s _me_.”

“I don’t know that name!”

“I meant _me._ Spider-Man. I know you figured it out while we were standing by the door and it's why I wanted to speak to you in private. I’m not someone impersonating Spider-Man, but _actually_ Spider-Man—sans the mask and suit. I just—I wanted to _talk_ , but I wanted you to talk to _me,_ Peter Parker, instead of a mask for this.”

“…Spidey?” Wanda hesitates, lowering her gun.

“Yeah,” he smiles, and it’s beautiful. Like a fucking Colgate commercial. “It’s me.”

“No! There’s no way Spider-Man would be Peter Parker!” Wanda shakes her head and cocks her gun again. “That would mean that Spider-Man took selfies of himself when he was younger and sold them to the press and there's no way he would do anything as uncool as—!” Wanda gapes, dropping her weapon immediately. “You _are_ Spider-Man!”

“Aw, c’mon, _seriously?_ _That’s_ what makes you believe me?” Peter groans, covering his face with one hand. Like a switch flipped, there was the easily-flustered, cute, little nerd from before. Wanda is absolutely _fascinated_ by these changes. “ _That is so not the impression I wanted you to have of me_ ….” he whispers to himself, mortified but resigned because he just has _that_ kind of luck. 

“…What are you doin’ here, Spidey?” Wanda asks carefully. She feels uncomfortable and looks it, too. She wasn’t expecting anyone that mattered so she’s showing a lot more skin than she’s used to. Her eyes dart around the room nervously, looking for her suit. “I haven’t done nothin’—I’m bein’ good. I even tip the maids when they come in every mornin’ an’ pick up all the Mountain Dew bottles for me,” she adds.

“I-I know. I know you’ve been good, Wanda. You’ve been good for a very, _very_ long time. That isn’t why I’m here,” Peter says, looking guilty again. Ah, Wanda thinks, she understands now. Jeez, Spidey could basically tear her apart with a couple of words, but she’d _always_ admire how righteous that boy was. “I just…I had a really serious talk with my Aunt about, uh, _what happened between us,_ and she told me this was the best way to do it and I had to do it _as soon as possible._ After she tore me a new one. Hah. But, uh, you left New York so I had to spend some time searching for you and I found that you’d taken up residence here because of the excessive pizza delivery orders, so I came here _because_ —!”

“It’s okay. I know,” Wanda interrupts him, shoulders slumping even more.

“Y-you do?”

“Yeah. It’s okay—you don’t gotta’ apologize or nothin’. I don’t blame ya’ for anything. I was just havin’ a bad day, is all, I shouldn’t have blown up on you like that,” Wanda says, sincerely. She stands up, shoulders hunched, arms crossed uncomfortably in front of her. “Don’t feel bad about it—you were just sayin’ what was right an’ I was being stubborn. You can go, no hard feelings,” she nods to the door, not looking at him. She kind of feels like crying again, her chest all tight and achy. “I’m okay now.”

But Peter doesn’t go and the footsteps draw closer. Wanda flickers her eyes up, scared to lift her head, and Peter is standing in front of her. He’s dropping whatever it is he had in his hand to wrap his strong arms around Wanda, clutching her tightly against his chest like he _means it_.

[DOUBT.]

{I'm certainly skeptical. Nothing good ever happens to us.}

Then Peter is speaking again and the Boxes don't dare interrupt.

“That’s not what I came here to say, silly,” Peter whispers, tightening his embrace when she lets out a soft noise. “Although I _do_ need to apologize to you for being the _biggest_ asshole there ever was. Because you didn’t deserve that and I jumped to conclusions… _again,_ ” he winces, and turns his head in to nuzzle her temple. Wanda shuts her eyes and grips the sleeve of his flannel shirt, hoping against hope that this wasn’t some sick hallucination. “You’ve teamed up with me for the past _two years_ and we’ve known each other for longer than that. I should have trusted you. I’m _sorry_ ,” he says sorrowfully, rocking her side-to-side when Wanda lets out a garbled noise that she guesses was supposed to be some sort of reply to that sincere apology. “What I came here to tell you is that I don’t want our team-ups to end—I don’t want you leave _at all,_ actually. I…I _really_ missed you, y’know? You were gone a whole two months and I never realized how quiet and boring everything was until you weren’t there. I…okay, so maybe I was really _upset_ that you’d left without telling me and I…went _nuts_ trying to find you, at first. I thought something bad happened to you,” he admits quietly. Wanda feels wonder fill her belly at the thought. She never fathomed that Spider-Man would be worried about her; no one ever was, so she never thought to tell him. “Tony found the SHIELD report of your mission and I got…really mad that you left on an assignment without telling me, and then you showed up out of nowhere and acted like nothing ever happened…I may have overreacted, is what I’m saying, because apparently I’m a needy child and I can’t talk things out like an actual adult,” Peter sighs. Wanda lets out a soft chuff of laughter against his jaw, unable to help pressing just a little closer. “I guess what I’m asking is…if you could team-up with me again? For good? Because I don’t wanna’ break up with you over something like this. I don’t wanna’ break up with you _at all._ ”

Wanda is quiet for a moment, then she says: “…No,” and lets him sweat for a second, his entire body going rigid at the reply, before she adds: “Not until you platonically eat me out like the super-bro that you are in apology first. Then _maybe_ I’ll consider teaming-up with you three times a week. Four if you use your fingers. Five if you do it in costume.”

Peter bursts out laughing and muffles it against her head, shoulders shaking with it.

Wanda beams and finally reaches out to crush Peter against her, shoving his face into her rack as she’d always done in the past. “ _Of course_ I forgive you, you big idiot! I forgave you the instant I teleported out of there! I’ll gladly team-up with ya’ again—as soon as I finish marathoning my favorite telenovela! I’m sure you can hold the fort until then!” Wanda cheerfully says to the top of Peter’s head, his entire face shoved into her tits.

Peter muffles something out and Wanda hums, letting him go a little so he could tilt his head up and gasp out:

“Is there a _whole roll of twenties in here?!”_

“It’s the only place I can keep ‘em where I won’t lose ‘em!”

"That's unsanitary."

" _You're_ unsanitary."

"Very mature," Peter snorts as Wanda reaches down her shirt to pluck the rolled-up stack of crisp twenties out from between her breasts and onto the bed.

"There. Now I'm gonna' lose 'em and then I'll _starve_."

"You have a whole box of pizza in here—you'll live."

"How do ya' know that? How do ya' know I didn't eat it already?" Wanda challenges, and Peter smirks as he taps his nose.

"I can smell it from here."

"Just good is that sniffer of yours, Spidey?" Wanda squints and Peter reaches around her waist to pull her closer, face still dangerously close to her rack as his lips curve into a crooked smile and he answers. Huh, funny. This is new. This is nice and _new._ Usually by now, Spidey would have been a flushed, embarrassed, mess, trying his damnedest to get away from her tits like the good altar boy he was. “Figuring out the extent of your spider powers is always a party favorite, but shouldn’t you be scramblin’ to get outta’ my rack by now, Spidey? You’re missing your cue. It’s okay—sometimes I miss my cues, too.”

“But you _said_ I had to eat you out before we could go back to New York,” Peter drawls, and his hands flatten against her lower back and slide down even lower until they’re cupping her perky ass. The Boxes in her head riot at that—one in crying joy and one in growing alarm—while Wanda gawks down at Peter, who’s wearing a smug little grin now.

It turns her on more than she’s willing to admit.

“I also said I’d go back anyway, no friend-eating necessary,” Wanda forces out.

“Alright—what about _more than friends_ eating?”

“...Um,” Wanda stares. “I didn’t think that far ahead, but it’s not a _no_.”

[GET IT, GIRL! GET IT!]

{Dear lord, is he serious? Quick! Go take a shower, shave, and let that boy go down on you STAT before he comes back to his senses!}

[WE’VE ALREADY SHAVED SIX TIMES AND WE HAD A BUBBLE BATH THIS MORNING!]

{I _told_ you a bath was a good idea.}

[Yeah, except now our pussy smells like a goddamn glitter garden.]

{Better than the alternative.}

[Who knows? Maybe Spidey likes fish,] Yellow cackles delightedly while White groans in disgust.

Meanwhile, Wanda could scarcely move a muscle.

“We should get to it, right? My aunt said a proper apology needs to be long and thorough,” Peter husks.

"I'm gonna' send your aunt a truck full of pizza ingredients."

"Why not just full pizzas?"

His hands trail down her curves and stop on the sides of her hips, giving her the chance to back out. Wanda leans a little closer instead and Peter smooths his palms the rest of the way down, cupping the underside of her ass to gently lift her up and wrap her legs around his waist.

"Because all aunt's like to _cook,_ duh."

Peter laughs and presses her against the wall beside her bed, pressing his lips against her masked jaw. He reaches up to the hem of her mask and she grabs his wrist before he can touch it. "Just to your nose, I promise," he says gently. After a moment of tense silence, Wanda loosens her tight grip and Peter pulls her mask up to the bridge of her nose, placing a kiss on her scarred skin, just below a bumpy suture line by her chin.

Wanda and Wade compared scars, once. Wade is a disaster of painful welts and bumps, skin stretched so thin at some parts that muscle shines beneath while other parts are just weathered and painful looking. Wanda is a patchwork of skin and suture scars—discolored, ragged, crooked; like puzzle pieces of skin forced together to paint a picture of skin grafts gone wrong. A _what not to do_ when conducting a vivisection, Wanda had joked once. 

"It's okay, Wanda," Peter murmurs against her cheekbone when her nails dig into the skin of his wrist. Wanda hastily let's go when she realizes, jerking her head down, clenching her jaw against the sniggering Boxes that always dance around the edges of her vision.

" _You're okay_ ," he breathes against her lips, and she feels okay. She is okay. Peter lets go of her thighs to cup his hands around her cheeks, guiding their lips together so carefully that Wanda kind of wants to cry again.

[What is up with us wanting to cry all the time? I don't like this. Cancelled.]

{ _All_ Deadpool's cry after any type of contact.}

[WE'RE BAD BITCHES, WE DON'T CRY!]

{Wade cried when we told him we'd have preferred looking like a grenade blew us up than looking like a Botched advertisement. Then we cried when he said he said our suture lines made us look like the basic bitch version of Sally from _The Nightmare Before Christmas._ }

{Oh, yeah, he's so sweet—hey, there's a new episode of Botched on tonight!!]

{We are literally _getting laid_ right now, can't it wait?}

"Guy, _shut up_ , we're having a moment, Botched can wait," Wanda hisses against his lips, when the Boxes argument escalates.

Peter barks out a laugh, pressing their foreheads together. "The Boxes giving you trouble again?"

"They’re _always_ giving me trouble."

"Then I'm not distracting you enough," Peter kisses her again. She can feel his grin against her lips and it's about the best thing she has ever, ever felt in her too-long, shitty, life. He kisses her cheek, down her jaw, all the way down her neck, not hesitating despite her ruined and ugly skin, until he pulls part of her tank top down and— _ooh, baby, that feels good,_ Wanda thinks as she stutters out a moan and grips Peter’s hair when he bites down on her nipple _just enough_ to have her clit throbbing pleasantly. Her thighs tighten around his waist and Peter grinds into her until she can feel him growing hard beneath his jeans.

She doesn’t think she’s gotten wet this fast since she discovered what she can do with a 10-inch vibrating dildo.

“Wait—wait,” Wanda pants about ten minutes later—what, she isn’t a _saint,_ y’know _—_ and they’re desperate and rutting. Peter’s hard bulge is grinding against her damp center. All he had to do was pull her shorts to the side and slide home; she’s sure she’s so slick, he’d have no problem pushing all the way in to the hilt and _God_ does that make her ache worse than anything she’s ever felt. “A-are ya’ sure you wanna’ do this, Spidey?”

“ _Peter,_ ” he exhales against her neck, soft lips trailing up her jaw. “Call me Peter,” he murmurs against her parted lips. He was good at this. She can’t remember why she _stopped—_ it must have been important. It had to be. But he’s doing that thing with his teeth now and his hands are groping every inch of her body and—and—

 _“Yes,”_ Wanda moans, hitching a leg a little higher when Peter’s fingers rub against her clit gently but firmly. She whines when he rubs his forefinger right up against a tender spot and shifts until he’s pushing a little inside. “ _In, I need your fingers in me,”_ she begs against his cheek and Peter shudders, one hand gripping her ass firmly as he hastily pulls her shorts aside and— “Ngh— _ngh_ , yes, please, deeper, just like that— _”_ Wanda whimpers as his fingers easily slide in and out of her, a third already making its way in.

“You’re so _wet,_ ” Peter groans, feeling her muscles clench around his digits. Her hips buck, breath hitching, and Peter’s cock throbs in yearning. He’d cut off his ankle just to fuck into her _once._ “C’mon, Wanda,” Peter coaxes, urging her to rut into his fingers. “Fuck into my hand _,_ that’s it. You’re so _good_ , Wanda,” and she whimpers extra loud at that, her hips stuttering. Peter presses a kiss to her cheek and Wanda pulses around his fingers. “You’re such a good girl—look at you, all wet and ready for me, I’m so _proud of you_ ,” he croons when she lets out a choked moan, her hips rolling into his cupped hand harder. Peter fucks his fingers into her with a little less precision, more force, and Wanda takes it with short, gasping, breathes, whimpering out his name and other nonsense into his neck, her fingers clawing his back as he fucks his fingers into her faster, until she's just whimpering. “Be a good girl and come for me, Wanda. Harder—come on _, come now,”_ Peter demands and she lets out a sharp scream, coming hard on his fingers, slick coating his entire palm as her hips shudder to a stop. “Wait—did you just, uh?” Peter bites his lip, cock twitching when he rubs his fingers together and they’re absolutely _drenched._  

“Oh, my God,” Wanda pants, wide-eyed behind her Deadpool mask, absolutely wrecked. She drops to one leg, Peter holding her other one up and out of the way. “I thought I lost the ability to squirt after Weapon X strapped me in an oxygen tank and _removed the oxygen_. Kinda’ does some things to your biology, y’know?”

“I do not,” Peter grimaces, and kisses her quickly to reassure himself that she’s here and she’s fine. Well, as fine as she can be. Peter deepens the kiss at the thought, heart all sorts of bleeding and aching for this woman. “But if you do that again, I’m not gonna’ complain.”

“You’re gonna’ need a lot more than your fingers to get me to do that again, spider-boy.”

“It’s a good thing I’m pretty well-equipped then, huh?” Peter flashes her a model grin, grinding his straining cock against her wet core. Wanda hums and moans appreciatively, reaching between them to grab his bulge, grinning when he whines at her handling.

“Well-equipped don’t cover it, hot stuff,” Wanda beams, stroking his bulge longingly. “Now, how about’cha pull these cute lil’ jeans off of ya’ and get with the poundin’?”

“You’re the epitome of romance, Wanda,” Peter deadpans as he unzips his pants just enough for his cock to jut out. He grunts when he slides snug against the crease of her thigh. Wanda adjusts and suddenly his leaking cock is resting between her wet lips. “Uh _—Oh, fuck, fuck,”_ Peter shuts his eyes, letting out a shuddery breath when Wanda undulates her body and lets his cock slide deeper into her folds and then—the tip breaches her just slightly, just enough for them to moan in tandem and for Wanda to curse softly under her breath, her hand gripping Peter’s ass to bring him closer, pull him deeper inside of her. “ _Holy shit,”_ Peter chokes, giving an involuntary thrust that plunges him in further.

She feels even _better_ than he imagined and he’s going to _die_.  

“ _Uhhh,”_ Wanda groans, throwing her head back. “I haven’t had a good cock inside of me in _so long_. You’re so big—and it feels so _good_ —please move, please, _please,_ I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever, just move, _please,_ ” Wanda babbles, her hips rocking his cock into her desperately. Peter grips her hips and stills them, grinning against her jawline, letting his tongue glide up until it slips past her parted, panting, lips.

“We’re doing this at my pace,” Peter whispers, slowing pulling out before thrusting back in hard. Wanda lets out a choked sound. She tries to buck up but Peter keeps a firm hand on her hips. “Be a good girl for me and don’t move, okay? _No moving_. You wanna’ be good for me, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes, I wanna’ be good! I can be good for you,” Wanda frantically whispers, gripping his shoulders now, trembling and feeling so, so _good_ whenever Peter pushes in deep after every slow pull. She clenches around him and he sighs in pleasure, thrusting hard a few times in reward. Wanda bits her lip to muffle her moans. “I can be so good—just give it to me like that always, _please.”_

“I will, but you have to behave,” Peter hums. When he’d get so closer to her ear? “Just relax, okay? I want you to enjoy it.”

“I _am!”_ Wanda groans, digging her nails into his bicep hard enough to draw blood on a normal man. Peter doesn’t flinch. “I _am_ enjoying this—just—please, fuck me, _hard_ —I want it _hard_ , I want you to make me cry, I wanna’ _get wrecked,_ I want it so bad—want your cock so bad, please, please, _please_ —!” and he never knew he liked to hear _begging_ but hearing Wanda beg makes his cock throb inside of her and he can’t help but spoil her, pounding into her hard enough that the wall trembles behind her. Wanda just wraps her long, lean legs tighter around him, arches her back and thrusts her gorgeous breasts into his face. He licks a pert nipple, biting it when Wanda reaches up with another hand to tweak her other tit, moans and cries escaping her plump lips with every hard thrust.

 _Fuck,_ he could never fuck someone as hard as this, as _good_ as this. Wanda isn't delicate--she's strong and she's resilient and she _matches him._ With MJ, it’d always been careful, so _careful,_ because she was so _fragile_ and he’d never been able to lose himself in the act because doing so would mean he risked hurting her. But now he can—now he can feel himself become lost in the feral thrusting, the chase of his release, pounding into Wanda hard enough that his teeth clack.

Wanda just _takes it_ like she was built for this _, begs_ for it.

Peter never wants to let her go.

“I’m gonna’ come—don’t stop, don’t you fucking _stop,_ ” Wanda gasps, slamming a fist against the wall as he bucks into her. She leaves a dent. Peter makes a mental note to put all hotel damages on his card.  “There—there, right there! Oh, oh, oh, OH!” She squeals when he grips her thighs with both hands and pistons into her, and she lets out a shuddered laugh-cry that transforms into a full-blown scream as she comes wet and hot on his cock, Peter’s vision whiting out when he comes a minute after, so hard that he has to stick his hands to the wall on either side of Wanda’s head lest his knees buckle and he sends them both tumbling to the ground.

He does anyway, but Wanda lets one leg slide down to catch them both, her hands holding him up immediately.

It’s a small act, but he’s never felt so much affection for someone as much as he does to Wanda in this moment.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Wanda pants, boneless against him. Peter grapples for a good grip on her thighs and unsteadily moves them closer to the bed, where he proceeds to fall sideways onto it. His dick slides out of her and they both grimace at the sensation. He immediately brings her into his chest, cradling her there, burying his face in the crook of her neck as she catches her breath. “I’m gonna’ be feelin’ _this_ in the morning. Aw, yes. Fucked raw by Spider-Man. Take that, Domino!”

“You’re ridiculous,” Peter chuckles, and tightens his arms around her when she yawns and winces as she tries to straighten out her legs.

“Jeez, Spidey! I think you wrecked my vagina!”

Peter tenses, immediately worried. Had he been too rough? Oh, God, what if he had—?

She beams up at him dopily. “I have never felt so fulfilled in my _life!_ You’re lucky I’m basically barren because _boy-howdy_ did you just dump a gallon in there!”

Peter stares and then bursts out laughing, a joyous sound that makes Wanda’s chest feel all warm and light. “Only you would think that could ever be a good thing. If it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure my dick’s gone numb.”

“Don’t worry, I know _exactly_ how to bring back some feeling,” she tilts her head back and drops her mouth open, tongue darting out to lick her full upper lip. Peter watches, unable to help himself and the treacherous twitch his soft cock makes at the sight. “No gag-reflex,” she whispers, grinning naughtily when Peter’s eyes widen enormously.

“You, uh, I mean, uh…seriously?”

“Uh-huh,” she presses her tongue against her bottom lip. Peter runs a hand down her thigh at the sight, sliding between her legs to feel her wet lips. She moans appreciatively, letting him stroke his fingers gently against her sensitive bud as he watches her trace her tongue along her reddened lips. “You could go to town down my throat and I wouldn’t even _choke._ Ten points if you make me, though,” she adds with a wider grin. “It’s not a good face-fuck unless someone tears up even a little!”

“When do you have to vacate this room again?”

“Monday,” she chirps.

“That’s… two days from now.”

“Yep! What, what’s with that face? I thought you were making it up to me! You were such an asshole, Parker, I still feel hurt! Make me feel better!” She whines, turning in his arms to wrap her own around his neck, nuzzling in closer when he chuckles, a rumbly, warm, sound in his chest, and lets her bring them closer. "You haven't even eaten me out like you promised you would."

“I haven't. Well, I guess a couple more days off work couldn’t hurt,” Peter says, as if he was _seriously_ considering leaving Wanda for _work_ , sliding his finger inside her again. He'd rather get yelled at by his advisers for half the day than leave Wanda. Wanda hums and shifts a little at his touch, feeling hot again.

“And you owe me, Petey,” Wanda sighs when Peter kisses down her neck again and languidly fucks his fingers into her as he goes lower down her body, pushing her thighs apart. “You owe me _loads.”_

And, boy, does he deliver.


End file.
